In the End
by Tue2day
Summary: He never meant to drive John away. What is he going to do now that he's alone? No spoilers, pre-Reichenbach, ratings for violence, drugs, and future bad stuff.
1. Down the Road the Demon Walked

A/N

It was 3 am and I was on a Sherlock binge on and this happened. It sucks, I know, but I haven't written fanfic in years. I say it's just a warm up story. No Spoilers. I don't own any of these characters, except Mitch. Mitch is mine. Don't touch Mitch.

Caution: Implied drug use, depression, angsty-ness out the wazoo, eventual slash, and an american trying hard not to sound canadian.

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><p>What have I become,<p>

my sweetest friend?

everyone I know

goes away

in the end...

- Hurt by Nine Inch Nails

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><p><span>Chapter 1, Down the road the demon walked. <span>

Sherlock Holmes is a lonely man. He'll never admit it, of course, but he is. Dreadfully so. On the outside he is his usually strange self, solving puzzles in seconds that no normal person could in hours, fixing problems in a single sentence, starting them in single glances. Setting fire to the souls and kitchens of women all over London and beyond. He keeps himself occupied as constantly as possible, more so now than before. Everyone around him mostly came to the conclusion that he was just more bored than usual because now he didn't have John to occupy that extra bit of his brain. Truthfully though, it was just a distraction. Truthfully, if he didn't keep distracted, John would occupy all of his brain. Truthfully, if he didn't keep busy with himself, he felt the gaping hole left in his chest after John Watson left, taking with him the other half of his life, and if he believed in such things, soul, would make him collapse in on himself and explode all at the same time. Sherlock Holmes is a sad man.

On the 4th of January, approximately four months after Dr. John H. Watson packed up his things and silently exited 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes was bored. He was bored and he was thinking of John again, as he walked down the darkened streets of his city. He was remembering a particular time in which he and John had been chasing after yet another serial killer on the far side of town over rooftops after a heavy rain. John was only a few paces behind him when he lost his footing. Sherlock heard Johns body hit the tin roofing with a thick thud, making the metal ring. Sherlock was turned around in seconds, not missing a step in his long stride, grabbing the sliding army doctor by the arms just before he fell to what would've been a rather painful death several stories below. He had him on his feet before the tin roof stopped ringing, standing there in the drizzling clouds, holding John and watching him. John was clinging tightly to the detective while gaping at the fall and obvious pain he would have endured if Sherlock had been just a few seconds later. Sure, they had saved each others lives countless times, Sherlock's life more than that, but that didn't mean you stopped freaking out over it.

"Are you alright John?" Sherlock asked after a few seconds.

"Yeah..yeah I'm alright. I think.. Uh, thanks." John's mind started ticking again and he became strongly aware of how close he was to the tall man. He pulled back and looked in the direction the criminal had run.

"We should probably go after him before he gets to far ahead."

Sherlock looked in the same direction and nodded. "Yes, we should." He said as he sprinted off into the distance, John trailing behind him like a flag.

They never did catch him.

Back in present day, Sherlock was just rounding the corner next to an obnoxiously over-lit pub. The cold winter night chilled his pale skin, which seemed to glow in the florescent shadows. He walked another few yards in his nostalgic silence before he reached his point of interest. At the end of the large brick building which housed the drunken citizens was a rather inconspicuous looking man. He seemed to blend into the bland gray bricks so well, with his dark cloths and hidden face, that you would hardly notice him unless he moved exceedingly. His stillness proved to Sherlock that not being seen was exactly his purpose. Then again, he knew that already. What man in his line of business would want to be seen?

Sherlock walked up to him like he did to anyone of use. The man lifted his head when noticing he was being approached, while still avoiding eye contact with the very white and very strange looking man. Sherlock stopped about a foot away, drawing his hands out of his pockets. He held something clenched in his right fist, but the other was outstretched in greeting. Sherlock smiled;

"Hello Mitch. It's been a while."

The shorter man finally looked Sherlock full in the face and grinned, shaking his hand firmly.

"Sherlock! It certainly has been a while. How you been, mate? Heard you were working for the police now. You're not here to bust your old pal Mitch now are you?" He laughed and pulled his hands back.

**Easier to grab his gun in case I **_**am**_** here to bust him.**

Sherlock laughed too. "No, no, nothing like that. Only murders and such for me. Though I do need something from you, if you don't mind."

"Not at all my good friend, not at all. What can I get for my favorite consulting detective, eh?"

"Remember when I came back from Berlin?"

Mitch winced dramatically. "Bad week, eh?"

"Bad year."

Mitch reached into his bag, leaned against the wall. "I got what you need, don't worry." He turned back and handed Sherlock a plain envelope.

Sherlock took the envelope and deposited it within the confines of his coat pocket. He loosened his clenched hands and handed Mitch what he held, a colorful wad of money. Mitch pushed his hand back.

" It's on the house. After what you did for me and my brother, I owe you."

Sherlock retracted his hand. "It was no problem at all really, just a simple observation. Thank you though."

"No problem. Come back anytime."

With that Sherlock left down the ally, his pocket weighted down with guilt, his mind drifting in the haze of London.

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><p>Thanks for reading! Please review! It really helps me improve. Chapter 2 should be up now, and I'll be updating on Fridays if possible.<p>

I Love You All!

SOKO


	2. The Sound of Nothing

Caution: Implied drug use, depression, angsty-ness out the wazoo, eventual slash, and an american trying hard not to sound canadian.

Slight spoiler, but you won't get it unless you've seen Scandal in Belgravia. I do not own any of these characters in any way.

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><p>"Oh don't talk of love" the shadows purr<br>Murmuring me away from you  
>"Don't talk of worlds that never were<br>The end is all that's ever true  
>There's nothing you can ever say<br>Nothing you can ever do... "

Still every night I burn  
>Every night I scream your name<br>Every night I burn  
>Every night the dream's the same<br>Every night I burn  
>Waiting for my only friend<br>Every night I burn  
>Waiting for the world to end<p>

The Cure; Burn

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><p><span>Chapter 2, The Sound of Nothing. <span>

Sherlock woke to the sound of Nothing. It's a strange thing, the sound of Nothing. Every person hears it differently. Some say it sounds like birds chirping in spring, others say a television in the other room. Most of the time, Nothing is a welcome sound. For Sherlock, it was very _un_welcome. To him, Nothing sounded like Everything, when Everything was not where it was supposed to be.

He heard John rummaging through the cabinets, complaining of inedible things mixing with edible things.

"Sherlock, why is there a jar of eyes sitting next to my jam?"

"It's for an experiment, John."

It was the sound of John's appraisal after Sherlock made a rather intricate deduction.

"That was brilliant. Just brilliant."

"Yes, it was, wasn't it?"

It was the sound of John yelling at him after he set the sofa on fire.

"How the hell did a flare gun end up going off in our flat?"

"That's unimportant. What matters is I know how she died."

It was the sound of John dragging his luggage out into the hall.

"I just can't deal with this anymore Sherlock. I'm moving in with Mary."

"Please don't leave, John."

It was the sound of the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Sherlock standing there, lost.

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly to the sun. He pushed himself up off the dirty ground at about the same moment he realized he was not, in fact, in his flat. He was in an alleyway presumably somewhere around the east side of town. In another moment, he assessed that he had no recollection of how he had gotten there.

Sherlock straighted himself up and brushed off as much muck as he could. He was cold and his cloths were slightly damp. What did he expect from passing out beside an Italian restaurant? He was not wearing his coat, which made him think he either took it off at home and left it there, or he lost it in the midst of his drug-induced adventures. His head was heavy and his mind was all fog as he stumbled out into the street. He squinted into the bright afternoon and began shuffling his was back to Baker street.

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><p>To his utter relief, when Sherlock got home Mrs. Hudson was nowhere to be found. Certainly, the woman would be a bit worried over him, but seeing him come back in this state would have sent her frantic. His dark hair was all tangled, his blue button-down shirt spattered with ash and what he presumed to be his own blood. The cut lip and sorrowful look on his face only added to the slow, dragging way he carried himself down the hall. He quickly made his way up the stairs into his flat and locked the door. He couldn't take the chance of her coming to check on him while he was cleaning up the mess he made last night.<p>

He stood in the center of the room and looked around, piecing together what his memory had neglected to capture.

**Observation:**

**Four glass beakers on the table, each filled with unknown viscous liquid of various colors. Papers set out beside them, very little notes taken. One beaker on it's side, amount of liquid contained, to small to spill.**

**Conclusion:**

**I started an experiment, but strikedid not finish /strike was interrupted.**

**Question:**

**What interrupted me?**

**Observation:**

**Mobile phone on the floor next to coat, also on the floor. Screen facing down.**

**Conclusion:**

**Left in a hurry.**

**Hypothesis:**

**I got a text or call from someone that was more important than the experiment. **

**Conclusion:**

**Need more information.**

**Possible moves:**

** call history and messages.**

** notes on experiment.**

** mysterious liquids.**

Sherlock picked up the phone and moved towards the kitchen table. He picked up the fallen beaker and set it up right as he scrolled through his inbox for the last message received.

_Received Jan. 6__th__, 5:00pm_

_From:Her royal Highness, Mycroft Holmes_

**The sixth?**

Sherlock quickly left the menu and looked at the date in the corner of the screen;

_January 7__th__, 2012_

_08:23am_

**I've lost two days. Two days, not one. Bad, this is very bad. Very, very...not good.**

Sherlock tossed the device onto the table. He rubbed his face with his hands and sighed.

"I need a shower and a smoke." He spoke out loud to someone who wasn't there.

He smirked. "Oh Sherlock, you really shouldn't. It'll be difficult to run all over London chasing serial killers if you can't breath."

Sherlock started walking to his room for fresh cloths.

"Breathing is boring, John." He spoke in his own voice. He stopped by the mantel, frowning at his skull.

He sighed, "I'm going mad, aren't I?"

Needless to say, the skull did not respond.

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><p>Thanks for reading! Please review! It really helps me improve. I'll try to update on Friday's if I can.<p>

I Love You All!

SOKO


	3. Poison in his Brain

Caution: Death, dead things, describing of dead things, examination of dead things, lots of blood, angst, yelling, confusing dialogue,drug induced madness, and overall weirdness.

It's short, very short I know. I'm sorry I didn't post it Friday like I wanted to, but I was at a friends all weekend and didn't have any internet. I might take this down and stretch it out some more later on, so if you read ch.4 and it doesn't make sense, try re-reading this one.

This characters are not mine in any way. If they were, it would be a very painful existence...

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><p>Fear is only in our minds<p>

taking over all our time

fear is is only in our minds but it's

taking over all our time

Evanescence : Sweet Sacrifice.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3; Poison in his Brain<strong>

**No. No no no, this isn't right this isn't right something is severely **_**wrong.**_

Sherlock sits on hardwood floors, head in hands, royally freaking out. His mind was racing, but nothing made sense. He tried to grab at facts only to find out they were useless, all of them, useless. His mass index of facts was completely unhelpful. All his solutions were impossible.

"RRRAAAGHH! WRONG! THIS IS ALL WRONG!"

Sherlock jets up in exasperation. He runs his hands through his tangled black hair, streaking it with drying blood. He spins in a small circle, taking in as much of the gory room as he can. There are bodies strewn about, most fully intact. All very bloody. He recognized them.

Lestrade was slumped over in a wooden chair, blood dripping from his eyes and nose, an empty glass broken on the floor next to him.

**Poison in his drink.**

Sally Donovan Lay on the table opposite of Lestrade, a significant amount of blood pooled on the table and floor around her,as well as dying her hair on the back.

**Bullet to the brain**.

_Not a bad Idea_

**Ignore that.**

Molly was crumpled in the corner, eyes bulging, bruising around the neck and bloody, broken fingernails.

**Strangled, clawed at her attacker.**

Sherlock unconsciously rubbed the scratch marks on his arms.

Anderson, or more specifically, pieces of Anderson, were scattered about the kitchen table in an organized fashion.

**Cut apart. Slowly. Kept him alive until the last moment.**

_So he could feel every ounce of pain._

**Ignore!**

Mycroft lay near the door, his head at an unnatural angle with a large amount of blood gathered near.

**Throat cut from behind, neck broke as he hit the ground.**

_He didn't even scream._

**IGNORE!**

And lastly, there was John.

_You can't ignore me forever, Sherlock._

Sherlock turned around slowly. John towered above him, his hands and feet nailed to a great wooden cross. The blood around his wounds was dry and cracking. His arms sagged from fatigue, but he looked straight in Sherlocks eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak, letting loose a black stream of flies. Hundreds of thousands of flies impeded on him, blocking out his vision. Each one weighed more than a brick of gold and quickly toppled him, pinning him to the floor. He couldn't move, he couldn't see, he couldn't think, he could barely breathe. So he did the only thing he could.

He screamed.

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><p>Sherlock gasped awake, grabbing the safety rails at the sides of his bed. A monitor was going berserk next to him as a swarm of doctors rushed in. Two of them grabbed his arms and strapped them down in leather, while another did the same with his legs. Sherlocks thrashing only made things worse. He ripped out his I.V. along with a few other unidentified tubes that probably shouldn' have been torn so roughly. He would have many bruises later.<p>

"No! Untie me immediately! I will not be restra-"

He was cut off as a doctor previously unnoticed in the commotion swiftly administered a strong sedative. His vision blurred and the sounds muddled together. He heard a specific voice say something very clearly right before he fell into a bottomless black void that made his current situation significantly more despairing. He grabbed onto the voice nonetheless, just so there would be something more than this emptiness. He forced it to repeat over and over until all that was left was a whisper. A ghostly sound of John in the far recesses of his psyche.

_You have nowhere left to run, my friend._

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><p>Oh wow, I have to say, I really liked writing this chapter. The images in my mind... shivers

And for those thinking I forgot Mrs. Hudson in the list of death and gore, I didn't forget, I just couldn't bring myself to describe her dead, I love her too much for that.

anywho~

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate any feedback you can give, so please review!

I love you all!

–

SOKO


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